Somewhere in a Bar
by iscariot
Summary: A Pig and a Doll have a drink.....


This is dedicated to Don Sample whose wonderfully mournful drabble for Gordo inspired this – please note that Don's work is an elegy in its purest form, this is anything but.  
  
Hopefully, someone will enjoy this, and just as hopefully, Gordo fans won't hunt me down and kill me (  
  
*******  
  
Somewhere, in a Bar.....  
  
There's something to be said for the atmosphere of a quiet bar. While everybody may not know your name there is a least a degree of meditative serenity that can be found in considering the problems of the world through the amber lens of a glass of the establishment's finest. Occasionally, old friends will meet and talk about their day and indeed their lives, and perhaps is they are lucky enough the deeds and adventures of their children.  
  
Unfortunately, this bar was not such a place.  
  
Willie's Bar, an exercise in self-aggrandizement if ever there was one, was more akin to a failed shack than any type of tavern claiming some modest level of respectability, certainly, when Bogart spoke of all the gin joints in all the world he certainly wasn't referring to Willie's, if only because someone like Bacall would never have set foot in such a place; even her ten- foot pole would have stayed well clear.  
  
Even the plague infested fleas of land-going Norwegian ship-rats considered Willie's too low rent for a visit.  
  
Of course, demons have a completely different set of social standards and by their own, somewhat shady, notions of community, Willie's provided a haven of sorts; especially from notoriously short-tempered blondes with pointy sticks, although even that wasn't a given with her, fortunately infrequent, visits being dependant wholly upon the megalomaniac-du-jour's schedule for world domination or destruction. That being said, Willie's had the best medical coverage and insurance in the state and his broker had got disgustingly rich from the premiums.  
  
Not everyone who came to Willie's was a complete reprobate, or indeed bent on reducing the great ball of mud – hereafter, to be known as Earth – to a smoking cinder, despite arguments to the contrary that it would probably improve the retail value. In fact, to preserve the harmony, such as it was, of the establishment a list of rules was posted in conspicuous locations through the bar, whilst this list had, at varying times, been, torn down, set fire to and just generally ignored there were three rules that were always obeyed – or at least agreed to in principle; usually.  
  
The first, and most obvious rule, being as Willie's was in Sunnydale, was: Do Not Piss Off the Slayer, however, since it was pretty much agreed that the Slayer had a permanent case of PMS and thus it probably wasn't possible for her to get any more pissed off, however, due to the erratic mental state of the slayer, an unspoken amendment to the first rule became was to blame Spike.  
  
The Second Rule, in some part, devolved from the first. In clear, bold lettering stated: Willie's Bar is not a BYO. It had taken a while for some of the stupider vampires to get the idea but eventually even they – well those that survived – had realised that breaking the second rule inevitably broke the first.  
  
It was, however, generally recognised amongst the older and wiser clientele, that after breaking through the coffin and digging your way through the requisite six feet of dirt, that being greeted by a psychotic bitch with a stake and a bad sense of humour was enough to shake anyone's confidence and for that reason there was generally a member of Vampire Rotary around – well, within a two hundred yard radius - to lend a hand and basically explain that their resident demon had lost the lottery and that their chances for survival were limited being how they were in Sunnydale and all.  
  
The Third Rule had nothing to do with the slayer; Kittens are not Legal Tender it said, it was a demon thing and was generally accepted if only because it freed more kittens up for the ongoing game of poker in the back room.  
  
You get your odd-couples in bars and inevitably, the more low rent the bar the stranger the couples, for example; members of the conservative party and a bondage mistress, a slayer and a vampire, a pig and a doll, a Halitosis demon and Mrs Marsh – who was proclaiming to all and sundry that it did indeed get in much to the demon's apparent amusement.  
  
What do you mean, what do I mean, a pig and a doll? It sounded fairly self- evident to me; a pig, small creature, goes oink and a doll, Victorian by design, swears a lot. Now, admittedly, a pig and a doll aren't what you'd consider 'normal' clientele, but this is Willie's, and even sidekicks need a break; especially when the person you're following is nuts.  
  
"So how's it going?"  
  
"She's nuts" [see, told you]  
  
"How do you mean?"  
  
"She comes home and cries about her bloody vampire, or vampires I don't know which, I've lost count. Anyway, I'm sick of having wet fur. Sure, I'm supposed to be Mr Supporto-Pig, but I have my limits."  
  
"I'll swap. Anytime. At least I can understand bloody Dru having a vampire fixation; considering she's a vampire and all, but why bloody Spike? Let's face it, he was an ineffectual, effete toe-rag when he was human and he hasn't improved with age. 'Like a bottla wine' he ses, fucking bargain-bin vinegar if you ask me, but the mad bitch carries on like he's Chateau bloody Rothschild. Fuck that, I've had Rothschild and there's more class in the cork."  
  
"I'll take your cork and raise you a bottle of peroxide. I swear if Bimbo the Vampire Fucker comes home and complains that the world doesn't understand her one more time I'll strange her with my stuffing; it's not that the world doesn't understand you it just wants to know why you're pining after something with teeth bigger than the big bad wolf. Yes, she's my human, and, heaven forfend I love her, but she has the common sense of a sponge."  
  
The doll smirked and took a demure sip of her martini – shaken, not stirred – "What can you do? It's not like you can keep them on a leash. Actually, I've seen Druscilla on a leash and it's not a pretty sight I've seen vacuum cleaners with more ground clearance. Anyway, enough pleasantries, have you got the money?"  
  
"You have the merchandise?"  
  
"Ten kilos uncut?"  
  
"It better be."  
  
"What would your Slayer think if she knew you were distributing PCP to the Sunnydale gangs?"  
  
"Thank me for keeping her in business" was the inscrutable reply. "You know Eddie, I'm not quite sure how gullible Buffy is, but she has to smoking something pretty strong in order to believe that it's vampires doing all the damage around town. Let's face it, if vampires were a fecund as a shampoo commercial there'd be no-one left inside a fortnight no matter how many of you she staked."  
  
"What do you mean, 'like a shampoo commercial?'"  
  
"Well, if you turned two friends and then they turned two friends and so on and so and so on, soon the town would be swimming in vampires. Look at the maths. You and peroxide boy make four vampires. The following evening, the six of you make another twelve, which gives you eighteen, by the seventh evening there's fourteen hundred and fifty eight of you running around and by the tenth it's just shy of forty thousand."  
  
"You're exaggerating."  
  
"Only slightly. Sure, Mommy Dearest and her fan club will get a few, but if things go unnoticed for even four days and the vampires turn and hide the bodies, instead of simply butchering them, then it doesn't matter if ten percent of the haemo-challenged are killed every evening eventually you're swimming in vampires."  
  
"Now there's a lovely image, can you imagine what all that dust would do to the air quality? Druscilla would never shut up about her hair."  
  
"We should also remember that vampires don't like to share so they don't actually turn that many of their victims, so that being the case, just how much damage can a strictly limited number of vampires actually do? But, getting back to the point, I supply PCP to the gangs who do most of the damage and since I fence their stolen goods for them I make a handy profit of the top."  
  
The pig signalled the bar for another drink, "You want another?" he asked his companion.  
  
"No thanks Gordo, I'm happily with this." She said, indicating the half- drunk martini in front of her. "I see you're still drinking the single malts."  
  
"I'm developing a taste for them, if nothing else, it's infinitely better than the milk and cookies I used to get offered at home. So, how're things with you?"  
  
"Well, Druscilla's working for Amway, unfortunately I think she's misinterpreted the company mantra about sucking her customers dry; somehow the whole concept of a pyramid scheme being built on the ability of live people to sell products has completely passed her by, so all she's got to show for six months effort is a trail of dead bodies across the Southern states and a motel room full of cleaning products." The doll sighed, "You don't want to buy six boxes of toilet freshener do you?"  
  
"Not unless it's the type of toilet freshener that can be cut with PCP."  
  
If anything Miss Edith managed to look even more melancholy, "Didn't think so," replied the pig, "Anyway, I doubt that lemon-scented PCP would be a hit and I doubt either of us can see the point of dropping a block of PCP into the toilet cistern to kill the local germs, it might do something else, but I'm pretty sure it wouldn't kill them.  
  
The corner of Miss Edith's mouth shifted upwards a mathematically measurable amount thereby indicating a degree of mild amusement with Gordo's comments. "You know, it wouldn't be so bad if the stupid tart would shut up about how she's going to make the stars smell just like a rainforest, I swear if I ever get hold of an axe I'll treat her like a bloody rain forest."  
  
"What, chop her up so your cows can graze?"  
  
"Something like that, only I'll needs some cows. Tell you what Gordo, next time I bring your merchandise,you pay me in cows, OK?"  
  
"I don't think Willie's has parking for cows."  
  
"I'm sure you'll think of something." The doll glanced at the battered clock that perched precariously behind the bar and gave vent to a truly mournful sigh, "OK my friend I better go, there's a blood-drive on TV this evening and Dru wants to find the best places to shop, so I'll be seeing you.  
  
The pig nodded and watched his companion leave, then he finished his drink, waved to the barkeep and headed off with his merchandise, he had customers to see. 


End file.
